


Flightless Bird, American Mouth

by idoltina



Category: Glee
Genre: Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine spends spring break of his senior year in New York with Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flightless Bird, American Mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgerose/gifts), [penguinutopia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinutopia/gifts), [hiasobi_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/gifts).



> **Warnings (if any):** Language, mentions of sex

_The air is thick with fog and smoke and dust as he flies, swooping underneath branches and darting back up to the sky, away from the barrels and triggers and hate desperate to get at him, wound him, bring him down and ground him._

_He is black in a sea of yellow, wings and feathers and beaks beating and snapping and floating. He thinks he's among them, at first, since they're all making the same sound, but slowly, one by one, they turn on him, pecking and chasing and screeching after him, driving him back under the branches, away from the light and the safety and right into the hands of those who want him most._

_There's a loud 'bang' and it goes right through his chest, thunderous and aching and hollowing; his wings begin to falter and wrap around his body to soften the blow of the fall. He hits the ground hard, body ricocheting off of the ground before falling again._

_This time, he doesn't feel the earth beneath him._

*****

**Friday**

It hits Blaine at the airport, a mere twenty minutes after his arrival, that this is _New York_.

Kurt is kissing the living daylights out of him and taking all of the air Blaine has to give as they wait at carousel number two in baggage claim. It's out of character for Kurt, for one, but it's also out of character for him, for them, in public. It's when Kurt draws his tongue back into his own mouth and presses his lips, moist and warm, to Blaine's, that Blaine remembers they're not in Ohio.

Six more months.

"Hi," Blaine breathes against his mouth.

"Hi," Kurt breathes back, nose nudging gently against Blaine's. "Missed you."

"Are you going to make a habit of this?" Blaine chuckles against him, tightening his hold on Kurt's waist.

"I don't know, are you going to make a habit of making me pick you up at the airport after months apart?" Kurt throws back.

Blaine grins. "I don't plan on it. I plan on staying for good next time I'm here. Staying with you." The conveyer belt starts to hum behind them, prompting Kurt to twist slightly in Blaine's embrace rather reluctantly to keep an eye out for Blaine's suitcase.

"Harmony gets in tomorrow, right?" Kurt asks. "Rachel said she was picking her up in the morning."

Blaine nods. "I'm sort of glad she didn't fly out the same day I did. I don't know her all that well. Plus, I'm not sure she's entirely over us beating her at Sectionals again this year."

"She'll live," Kurt says dismissively. "She's got another year to go to Nationals. She knows how good she is. She's not going to have a problem getting into NYADA."

Blaine hooks his fingers through the loops of Kurt's jeans. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

Kurt's fingers drum idly at Blaine's collarbone as his eyes follow the parade of luggage moving past. "A little. It helps that you're here."

"Front row, _with_ flowers" Blaine promises, hand flexing at Kurt's waist. "I'm sure you'll be great. You'll pull focus and everything."

The corner of Kurt's mouth twitches upwards into a smile as he glances sideways at Blaine. "Can't help it."

Blaine shrugs. "Not like it matters to me. You'll have my focus all night anyway."

Kurt groans. "Oh god, do not, I repeat, do _not_ let Rachel hear you say that."

"Our secret," Blaine whispers with a laugh, reaching beyond Kurt to tug his suitcase off of the carousel. "Didn't you say something about taking me back to your apartment?"

Kurt arches an eyebrow at him, hand still clasped firmly in Blaine's as they head for the exit. "Awfully forward of you, Mr. Anderson."

"You were the one who invited me," Blaine points out with a grin. "I'd say it's awfully forward of _you_."

They're curbside when Kurt's hand shoots into the air in a well-practiced manner and then reaches out for the silver handle, tugging Blaine into the taxi. He half-laughs the address at the driver as Blaine's lips find his own again, and the argument, however trivial, is forgotten.

New York.

*****

**Saturday**

The last of the cast troop through the doors and filter into the hallway, laughing and talking animatedly. Among them is Rachel, who immediately reaches for Harmony's elbow and tugs her down the hall, waving back at Blaine. "He'll be a few more minutes!" she calls.

Blaine leans against the wall opposite the drama room hallway, the scent of Harmony's perfume lingering and the streetlights buzzing in the dark outside. Several minutes pass, though, and Blaine's just about to pull out his phone to send a message when he hears it.

" _Old man sunshine, listen you. Never tell me dreams come true. Just try it, and I'll start a riot..._ "

Blaine smiles faintly and follows the invisible trail of dead yellow feathers across the hallway and into the dimly lit back room. It takes Blaine's eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting, but he finally finds his boyfriend ( _oh, there you are; I've been looking for you forever_ ) perched on a small stool in front of a mirror, a moist towelette held delicately between his fingers and swiping across his face, stage make-up bruising and smudging the cloth as he continues to sing.

" _They're writing songs of love -- but not for me. A lucky star's above- but not for me. With love to lead the way, I've found more skies of gray..._ "

Kurt's eyes close, his voice becoming muffled and uneven as he wipes harshly over his eyelids. Blaine is light on his feet, feathers trailing behind as he sidles up behind Kurt and wraps his arms around Kurt's waist, burying his nose in Kurt's neck. Kurt lets out a surprised _oh!_ but relaxes a little, laughing and batting at Blaine's hands, squirming to get out of the embrace. He stops, though, when Blaine starts to sing in his place. " _I was a fool to fall and get that way. Hi ho, alas, and also lackaday._ "

Kurt sets the towelette on the vanity and turns slightly in Blaine's arms, smiling a little before singing again, voice joining Blaine's. " _Although I can't dismiss the memory of his kiss, I guess he's not for me._ "

Blaine leans forward and presses his lips to Kurt's, desperate to be closer and warmer; he leans forward, pressing Kurt's back into the edge of the vanity, hands grazing over Kurt's abdomen through the material of the thin, thin shirt he's wearing.

"I want this," he breathes against Kurt's face.

"This?" Kurt breathes back. "My shirt? Me? What?"

"This _life_ ," Blaine moans against him, resting his forehead against Kurt's shoulder, causing Kurt to arch back a little more into the vanity. Blaine is just so, _so_ tired of being held back, of being kept from the battlefield and the lights and the boy he loves. He's not a kid any more, for all that he's eighteen, now, but he still feels like one, is still treated like one. He's stuck in fucking _Ohio_ and is simultaneously being pushed and pulled in every direction, east coast and west coast and home; he wants to retrace his steps and pick up the feathers and grow a pair of wings and just get _out_ of the stupid cage already. And this, here, now, is what he wants, where he wants to land: _New York_ and _Kurt_ and _safe_.

Home.

"Fuck," he hisses into Kurt's shoulder.

"Hey," Kurt says gently, pushing Blaine back by the shoulder so he can look at Blaine's face. "You just got here yesterday. Don't leave me yet."

Blaine inhales, long and slow and measured, before reaching up a hand to trace a thumb over the apple of Kurt's cheek, fresh and clean and bare and Blaine can't see anything _but_ Kurt. Then. Now. Always.

"Never."

*****

**Sunday**

Kurt makes them a chocolate souffle and doesn't complain about the calories or the way it'll go straight to his hips. He doesn't seem to _care_ so much about these sorts of things this week, and Blaine cares even less because they're eating brunch in Kurt's kitchen and Blaine feels seventeen and twenty-two and thirty-five all at once, and it's Kurt _then, now, always_.

Blaine's eyes keep falling to the refrigerator door and all of its ornaments: a whiteboard calendar full and color-coded with classes and shifts and parties and plans and promises (there's a stretch of a long, red line from a Friday to the next week's Saturday with the accompanying words _Blaine visits!_ and a hand-drawn heart at either end); a photograph of last year's ensemble of New Directions at nationals sits tucked in the upper left hand corner; there's a NYADA magnet holding an Ohio postcard in the upper right; tucked below is a photograph of the two of them with Finn and Rachel and a ribbon of paper along the bottom with Kurt's slightly untidy scrawl -- _come and go as you please but stay with me always_.

"I keep losing you," Kurt laughs, snapping Blaine out of his study.

Blaine flushes. "Sorry," he laughs, setting his fork down and twisting on the bar stool to face Kurt completely. "Sorry, I'm totally here now, I promise."

"You've just... you've been awfully quiet since last night," Kurt points out. "Did it bother you, going to the show two nights in a row? Or having to wait that long? Because you don't have to go again tonight, it's --"

"It's not that," Blaine assures him, resting a warm hand on top of Kurt's. Kurt smiles at him. "It's just -- you've sort of built a life for yourself here, you know? I'm still trying to take it all in."

There's something _aching_ behind Kurt's eyes and Blaine just wants to make it go away. "I haven't forgotten you."

"No, I know, god," Blaine groans, rubbing at his temple in frustration. "It's just -- I wish I were _here_ already, you know?"

Kurt smiles, just a little, and runs his thumb across the back of Blaine's hand. "You are here." Blaine shifts, uneasy, but returns the smile anyway. "Are you still hungry?"

And Blaine is, of course he's still hungry, thirsty, _wanting_ for something more than what he's got. And he hates that, hates that he's having so much trouble just being able to live in the moment and enjoy the here and now and Kurt, because all he can think about is then and always and Kurt. There's a distinct difference between the two in Blaine's mind: one is real and temporary, the other possible and lasting. He can't fight the way his veins pulse against his skin and his stomach twists with desire at the latter. _September_ is the souffle, not the contents of his stomach. He wants the _then_ to be _now_.

"No."

*****

**Monday**

They're sitting close together, side by side, on a bench on the boat, the wind threatening to whip Blaine's scarf from his neck and the gel from his hair. A flock of seagulls circles overhead, their voices loud and consistent. One of Kurt's hands clings tightly to Blaine's while the other gestures out around the bay, his voice low and fast as he offers his colorful descriptions. They're halfway there when Blaine reaches into his messenger bag and unearths a stack of envelopes. Kurt glances down at them distractedly before doing a double-take, blinking and shifting his gaze to Blaine's face. "When did you get those?"

"They started coming in the last week and a half before spring break," Blaine says quietly. "I was waiting until I got here before I opened any of them."

"You've been here three days," Kurt points out. "Why are you only showing me now?"

Blaine shrugs a shoulder. "I didn't want to distract from your show."

Kurt smiles a little at him. "You want to open them now?"

Blaine nods. "But -- can you? I don't think I can do it," he admits, echoing Kurt's worries and concerns this time last year.

Kurt gently pries the stack from his hands and tugs his gloves off, fingers wrestling to open the envelopes without ripping and tearing. The envelopes are all printed with different colors, red, green, blue, purple, black; Kurt opens them in almost complete silence, announces only the names followed by a yes or no. One by one, Blaine takes them back and pockets them into the bag; in the end, he holds three in his hands, hesitating, before putting another away.

They're the two heaviest envelopes he's ever held. He feels like he's holding bricks.

"I wouldn't blame you if you went to Massachusetts," Kurt says quietly, fingers tracing over the pristine letters. "It's almost stupid for you not to. And it's not far. Only a little over four hours." Blaine bites his lip, fingers loosening on the envelope in question. "You don't really want to, though, do you?"

Blaine shakes his head. "No."

"This isn't a discussion, then."

Blaine's hands tremble a little on the envelopes before he pockets another and holds the last one tightly. "Guess not."

The boat docks, and Kurt clutches Blaine's hand tightly, basket in tow, as they climb the twenty-six steps.

Blaine's barely able to nibble at the egg salad sandwich Kurt's packed; there's a group of children in front of him running across the lawn but not even they can distract him. It takes Kurt crawling up behind him on the blanket and wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders before Blaine will react to much of anything. "Look at her," Kurt murmurs against his ear. Blaine glances up, dwarfed by green. "People come here for the freedom to choose." Blaine tosses the sandwich back into the picnic basket and leans back into Kurt's warmth. "Choose."

Blaine closes his eyes and exhales as Kurt's lips fall just below his earlobe. "You," Blaine breathes. "Always you."

*****

**Tuesday**

Nightfall finds them curled underneath the same blanket on the sofa, feet touching and toes curling into each other. Music drifts through the apartment courtesy of Kurt's iPod.

A smile slowly creeps onto Blaine's face and he can't help but laugh as he waits, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. "Kurt, come on, I feel silly."

"Patience -- here." Metal touches Blaine's bottom lip first and then slips past and his mouth is set ablaze, warm and full and comforting. Blaine's lips close around the fork and pull, releasing the utensil back into Kurt's clutches. "Good?"

Blaine lets it sit on his tongue for a moment before chewing and swallowing. "Oh my god," he moans, "amazing." He opens his eyes and glances down at the bowl Kurt's holding. "What _is_ that?"

"Duck," Kurt says proudly, holding out another forkful in Blaine's direction.

Blaine takes the second bite a little more hesitantly but ends up moaning again. "Oh my god, that is the best thing I've ever eaten."

Kurt smiles at him and taps his nose affectionately. "Flatterer."

"No," Blaine says seriously, prying the fork from Kurt's hand and taking a bite of bell peppers. "I am so glad I get to live with you. I will never order takeout again."

Kurt laughs. "Liar." The corner of his mouth twitches, though, as his face relaxes a little, his smile becoming a little lazier. "I'm glad you get to live with me too. It'll be nice having you here for more than a week." Blaine glances up from the plate and grins at him, eyes glittering. Kurt leans in, hand shoving gently at Blaine's shoulder as he pushes his boyfriend back into the cushions, the bowl perched precariously between them. Blaine laughs and barely manages to pry it out from between their bodies and set it on the coffee table before allowing Kurt to half-crawl into his lap and hover over him, invading Blaine's personal space and bringing heat with him. Blaine tilts his chin up, Kurt's hand rests on his cheek, and then they're kissing, first with lips but their tongues follow soon after, causing sharp inhales and a much closer proximity. Kurt nips at Blaine's lower lip a little, causing Blaine to whine --

"Well _hello_."

Kurt pulls away a little reluctantly and glares in the general direction of the hallway. "Hello, Harmony," he drawls. "Not a free show. You and Rachel can go to her room."

She laughs at him as Blaine blushes and tries to sit back up; Kurt sits back on his legs a little but still doesn't allow Blaine much room to move. "We're not staying," Harmony informs him, clasping the handle of her handbag with both hands. "She just came to get a few things. We're going to the sushi bar a few blocks down. Karaoke night." Her eyes flick to Blaine for a moment. "You guys wanna come?"

Blaine snorts with laughter and rests his forehead against Kurt's shoulder. "Do you?" Kurt murmurs against him.

Blaine shrugs, nuzzling his nose against Kurt's neck. "Up to you."

Kurt hums pleasantly before readdressing Harmony. "Give us a few. I can't promise we'll stay late."

Blaine pulls away from Kurt's neck and smiles at Harmony a little. "I'm sure they'll both claim me for a duet. I promise you one group number."

Harmony quirks an eyebrow playfully at him. " _California Dreamin'_?"

Blaine grins at her and untangles himself from Kurt's limbs to rise from the couch, tugging Kurt up by the hand. "Let's kill this thing."

*****

**Wednesday**

They take the train with Rachel and Harmony into West Village and walk a few blocks down to Books of Wonder on West 18th where there's an outpost of Cupcake Cafe. "I know it's not Magnolia's," Kurt says, "but they're still to die for if you ignore the calorie count." And again, Blaine can't really bring himself to care because he gets to hold Kurt's hand in the street and lick extra buttercream frosting off of his lips and _New York._

They lose Rachel and Harmony to the floor and Baum and Oz, to a girl a long way from home and only a winding path and a pair of glittering silver shoes to guide her. Kurt skips over the most crowded part of the store, whizzing by gads of children tugging on their parents' pant legs and thirsting for a break from reality. They finally take up residence in a back corner, plucking books from shelves and sinking to the floor just as Rachel and Harmony have, and lose themselves in words for a while.

It's not until Blaine has picked up a Sharon Creech book that either of them acknowledge reality again; he doesn't open the book, just runs a calloused thumb across the glossy cover. "Did you ever read this?" he asks quietly. Kurt glances over at the title quickly and shakes his head. "It's good," he says thickly. "It's --"

"Blaine." Kurt reaches over and tugs the book out of Blaine's hands, setting it on the floor and crawling between Blaine's knees. And Blaine isn't a child any more, he's not; he's eighteen now, able to make his own decisions, to leave the nest and write his own story and say _fuck you_ \-- "Blaine," Kurt tries again, resting his hand on Blaine's knee.

Blaine can't bring himself to meet Kurt's gaze, though, so he opts for staring at their hands instead, perched upon his knee. "It's about this girl, Dinnie," he explains. "Her family moves constantly while she's growing up, they're basically vagabonds. Her older sister has a baby at sixteen and Dinnie gets shipped off to Switzerland to live with her aunt and uncle and go to a new school." Kurt's hand starts to move on his knee, warm and comforting and anchoring, and it gives Blaine the courage to keep going. "She doesn't know who she is, or what she wants, if anyone wants her. She spends half of the book wanting to go home, and the other half worrying she's forgotten about her real family." He meets Kurt's eyes, now. "She's me."

Kurt's hand grips his knee tightly. "Blaine --"

"I just want to be with you," Blaine gasps, and there are hot, wet tears splashing down his face before he can stop himself. Kurt leans forward and pulls Blaine's head against his chest, exhaling loudly into Blaine's hair. "I just -- I don't want to be in Ohio any more. I don't want to go back. I just want to stay here, or at least know I'm going to come back, and even though it's what I want, I --"

They sit in silence for a few moments, surrounded by paper and binding and cupcake wrappers, the laughter of a few girls echoing from the aisle behind them. "You're worried about your dad," Kurt says finally.

Blaine holds Kurt's sweater with an iron grip. "I want him to let me go. I want -- I don't want to have to ask for _permission_. I just -- I'm not a kid any more, Kurt. This shouldn't be an issue."

"Eighteen," Kurt reminds him. "You're barely eighteen. Why do you want to grow up so fast?"

Blaine plants a kiss to Kurt's Adam's apple. "Because it means I get to do it with you."

Kurt laughs, actually laughs, and pulls away a little, cupping Blaine's face with both hands and beaming down brightly at him. "I'm hardly grown up," he quips dryly. "I took you to a children's bookshop for cupcakes."

A smile slowly spreads across Blaine's face, stemming his tears and warming him. "So I'll be young now," he compromises, daring to lean in for a kiss even though there are children right around the corner. "As long as I can grow old with you."

*****

**Thursday**

They have breakfast at Tiffany's with Rachel in the morning, Kurt standing between them; all three of them clutch their own paper cups, coffee steaming, and Kurt holds a small paper bag full of doughnut holes open as Blaine and Rachel dip their fingers inside. Blaine feels a little bad, leaving Harmony at the apartment; but at the same time, he doesn't because she'd told them all in no explicit terms that five-thirty was an absolutely ungodly hour and if Kurt didn't get out of the living room _right now_ , she'd toss every single one of his skincare products out the fifth story window. And really, it's her own fault, meeting up with old friends from NYADA mixers in St. Marks for drinks and dollar pizza at two-thirty in the morning (and Blaine remembers why he doesn't drink and can't believe he did it when he was her age, for all that she's a year younger than him).

"I'm glad you're here," Rachel says wistfully after a while. "It reminds me of the first time we were in New York and did this, when Kurt and I made plans to live here. He said you were on board."

Blaine smiles faintly over at him. "And here I am."

"It's going to be so great when you're here in the fall," she gushes. "We'll be able to get coffee in the morning and order take-out on Wednesdays and sing all of the time --"

"Oh my god, Rachel, stop," Kurt snaps, crinkling the bag shut with more force than strictly necessary. "Stop commandeering my boyfriend. Just -- stop. No."

"I'm just saying," Rachel says meekly, "that if he's going to live with us, it'll be nice to all hang out more. I've missed that this year." Blaine smiles a little at her as Kurt sighs, shaking the bag open again. "Have you started getting acceptance letters yet?" she ventures after a moment. He and Kurt exchange a look before he nods. "Where'd you get in?"

Blaine rattles off the list for her: "OSU, Columbia, Harvard, NYU, UCLA, NYADA --"

Rachel chokes on her coffee. " _You applied to NYADA?!_ " she asks, scandalized. She smacks Kurt on the shoulder with the back of her hand. "You didn't tell me that!" Kurt rolls his eyes and ignores her, but Rachel's face lights up again anyway. "So you're coming to school with us?" she asks eagerly. "You're going to --"

"No, Rachel," Blaine cuts in. "I'm not going to NYADA."

"But -- _why_?" Rachel asks, aghast. "It's amazing. Why wouldn't you want to perform, to --"

"I still love performing," Blaine assures her. "I love music. I just... I want to try something different. I want to apply it to something else." He glances over at Kurt, who takes his hand and offers him an encouraging smile. "I'm going to NYU. Steinhardt, specifically, but --"

He lets out a loud _oomph_ as Rachel crashes into him and throws her arms around his abdomen, hugging him tightly. "Oh, I'm so glad you're still coming," she mumbles into his coat. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys --"

"Oh my god," Kurt gasps. Rachel pulls away from Blaine a little and they both look over at Kurt, eyebrows raised in confusion. "Rachel Berry, we are not a substitute for your dads."

Rachel falls against them both as they burst into hysterical laughter, the paper bag squished between them, and the holes inside start to flatten and fill.

*****

**Friday**

"I miss this the most," Blaine admits, breathing heavily against Kurt's chest.

"Sex?" Kurt says dryly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Not sex," Blaine argues. "Just... this." He reaches over and locks his fingers with Kurt's, presses his lips to Kurt's jaw and feels the skin of Kurt's neck on his cheek and the steady _thump-thump-thump_ of Kurt's heartbeat against his palm. "I miss being close to you. I miss knowing I can hold your hand, just... _feel_ you." It makes him feel here, present, in a way he's been longing and yearning for all week, all year, really.

"I know," Kurt says quietly, skimming his fingers lightly over the vertebrae in Blaine's spine. "I miss it too. I miss your hands on my shoulders and your mouth and just --"

"-- everything," Blaine supplies. "Yeah, I know." He pulls Kurt impossibly closer and nuzzles his face against Kurt's chest. "You know," he adds after a moment, "I still only sleep on half of the bed most of the time. I got so used to you sleeping with me, and now I feel guilty any time my leg wanders over."

Kurt pulls back a little and looks down at him. "I don't think I was prepared for how hard this year was going to be on you. Most of the time I'm so focused on what you do for me, the way you make me feel, the way --" He pauses, grinning down at Blaine a little. "The way you look at me, like you're looking at me now."

"Like what?" Blaine laughs, smile effervescent.

"Like... I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen," Kurt admits with a blush.

Blaine grins, tracing Kurt's collarbone with his fingers. "Well you are."

Kurt sighs. "Like that. Sometimes I get so focused on that that I forget you need me, too."

Blaine's smile falters and he bites his lip, training his gaze on the path his hands are following. "We're together," he says finally, voice quiet. Together, _here, now, New York_. "That's enough for now."

Kurt inhales sharply and pulls away a little more, sitting up and pulling open the nightstand drawer. He turns back to Blaine, who's propped himself up on one elbow, with a small black box in his hand, a white ribbon tied around it, clean-cut and pristine. Blaine can't help smiling. "What's this?"

"For you," Kurt says unnecessarily. "I've been trying to figure out when to give it to you all week, especially after we went through the letters on Monday."

Blaine tugs the ribbon free and pries the lid off of the box with one hand, unearthing a small, gold key and a red heart made out of construction paper. "Key to your heart?" he laughs affectionately.

Kurt bites his lip. "Key to the apartment." Blaine blinks up at him, gaping a little. "I don't know if we'll still be here next year or if we'll try to find a different place, if we'll share with Rachel or not. But after we talked on Sunday, after you -- you made that comment about trying to adjust to my life here, I just..." He exhales sharply through his nose, clearly struggling to figure out the right way to say this. "I needed you to see, needed you to understand that this isn't just my life, or Rachel's. It's yours, too. It will be. There's always a place for you here."

The box makes a loud clatter as Blaine throws it from his hands and it lands on the floor; the key gets pressed between them, right between their chests and Blaine is kissing Kurt with all he's worth and even the parts that aren't worth anything and he's _crying_ because the _here and now and Kurt_ just became _then and always and Kurt_. It's not just Kurt and New York, any more. It's not just Blaine and Ohio, either. It's Kurt, and it's Blaine, and it's Kurt and Blaine and New York, and it's here and now and then and always.

"You're not alone," Kurt murmurs against his lips. Kurt presses his hand to Blaine's chest, trapping the key between them, and makes a promise: "I'm still here."

*****

**Saturday**

Kurt shifts his weight nervously from one leg to the other, hand anchored firmly at Blaine's elbow. "I wish I could come with you," he murmurs.

Blaine quirks an eyebrow. "Back to Ohio? Really. You live in _New York._ "

"Oh, you know what I mean," Kurt sighs impatiently. "I wish I could go with you. I wish you could stay. I wish we didn't have to do these last two months apart."

Blaine falls against him, their foreheads touching. "Me too. I feel spoiled by this week."

Kurt smirks against him. "Will you still feel that way when you're living here with me come fall?"

Blaine just nuzzles closer. "Always."

Kurt hums against him happily before glancing over Blaine's shoulder. "You really should get going," he says quietly, "if you're going to get through security and to your gate on time." Blaine whines against him. "Two months," Kurt promises, clutching Blaine's hand firmly. "I'll be home in two months. And then you'll be here again." He hugs Blaine hard and fast, presses his lips right up against Blaine's ear and whispers an _I love you_ before pulling away.

Blaine tugs him back in for a kiss, a real kiss, a proper kiss before Kurt can really get away; the noise of the crowd and the intercom and the machines falls away, and it's just the two of them there, standing in the middle of JFK and kissing like Blaine's going off to _war_.

New York.

Blaine tightens his hand against the back of Kurt's head, tugging at the hair there a little as he chokes out his last _I love you_ , and then Blaine's gone, back turned and shoes off and blocked off by doors and gates and uniforms. Kurt's lips still linger on his skin for several minutes after, and Blaine knows he's not going back into the battle alone.

On the plane, Harmony takes his hand when he starts to cry.

_Pavarotti's voice was silenced. I don't want to silence anyone else's voice._

"Thank you for flying back with me," Blaine says quietly, somewhere over Pennsylvania.

Harmony smiles over at him, warm and genuine. "I had to fly home anyway," she reminds him. "You're really the one accompanying me."

Blaine laughs. "How so?"

Harmony adjusts her beret and sets open her laptop, offering Blaine one of her earbuds as _Evita_ starts to play. "You're not really going home, are you?"

Blaine blinks and stares at her blankly for a moment before accepting the proffered earbud and offering her a smile. "I guess not."

When they touch down in Ohio, Blaine's hand digs in his pocket and encloses around a key, preparing for battle.

Two months.

*****

_He recognizes that he's made a soft landing the second time around before he's opened his eyes; the hands that hold him are exceedingly gentle, close and warm. He blinks, opening his eyes blearily, to find a man staring down at him with a small smile on his face._

_And man -- that's the problem, that's always been the problem. It's men who hunt him down. Screeching, the bird struggles to unfold its wings and take flight; it's then he remembers he's wounded, a gaping hole in his chest full of gravity, anchoring him to the ground. The man makes a slight shushing sound and the bird finally notices the distinct lack of noise and filth; they're away from the battlefield, away from men and guns and hate and traitors. The branches overhead filter the light and cast shadows on the forest floor, on the man's face, and the bird starts to relax when the man starts to sing._

_"Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly."_

_Slowly, the man brings his hands up to his face and presses his lips to the hole in the bird's chest, breathing, singing life back into him. "Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see."_

_The man pulls away and the bird hops to his feet, hole gone and wings mended. He's free, now, if he wants to be. He can leave, escape, fly to the heavens and home._

_He chooses to stay, instead._


End file.
